


lost all resistance, crossed some borderline

by alsoalsowik



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, but yeah uh if cheating aint your thing this is not the fic for you!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 09:39:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14494146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alsoalsowik/pseuds/alsoalsowik
Summary: It’s a mistake, and Scott figures that out three and a half seconds after he presses Tessa into the wall of his hotel room. It’s wrong, because he’s got a girlfriend back home, but they’re fighting and it’sTessaand she isn’t pulling away or slapping him or anything other than sighing into the kiss and threading a hand through his hair.aka the cheating fic nobody asked for





	1. 2009

**Author's Note:**

> hi all! i have been writing a few things for vm as of late, this being the most thought out by far. i'm hoping that posting the first chapter makes me actually write the rest of this, which is a distinct possibility because classes are rapidly winding down and there's no better way to procrastinate studying for finals than writing fic, right?
> 
> title taken from "as long as you're mine" off of the _wicked _soundtrack because, well, yeah.__

It’s a mistake, and Scott figures that out three and a half seconds after he presses Tessa into the wall of his hotel room. It’s wrong, because he’s got a girlfriend back home, but they’re fighting and it’s _Tessa_ and she isn’t pulling away or slapping him or anything other than sighing into the kiss and threading a hand through his hair. 

 

He’s twenty-one and she’s nineteen and he has a girl. A girl who’s mad about something, whose last words on the phone last night were, “Go fuck yourself, Scott.” 

 

Tessa, on the other hand, is single. He thinks. 

 

It’s hard to think with Tessa Virtue’s tits pressed against his chest. 

 

Scott pulls back a solid two inches, which is easily the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. He stops because he’s twenty-one and the adultier adult in the situation. Tessa lets out an agitated groan and looks up at him with those fucking green eyes that could melt Olympic ice, her lips swollen and parted, _daring_ him to lean in again. 

 

“Tess, I—” he starts, then stops short. What can he possibly say? _My girlfriend hates me and thinks you and I are fucking on the side and if she thinks so, we might as well give it a try._ God, even half-drunk off the taste of Tessa’s mouth, he isn’t that stupid. 

 

“You’re still with her,” Tessa says. It’s not a question, doesn’t even sound all that accusatory. 

 

He nods. 

 

“But you wanted to kiss me.” Again, a flat statement. 

 

“Yeah,” Scott offers, starting to back up, wanting very much to jump off the hotel balcony. She catches his elbow, cementing him to the ground. Her perfect teeth sink into her bottom lip and, _oh_ , this was a mistake. Monumental. Of epic proportions. 

 

“You already did it,” Tessa offers, voice low and aching. She’s the brains, the analyst of their partnership, overcome with want. Wanting him. “Why not just…keep going?” She’s her and he’s him and this feels as inevitable as the sun rising tomorrow morning. Tessa spurring him on cements what he’s always had an idea of, in the dark recesses of his mind. 

 

From the time he was seventeen, Tessa’s been somewhat of a _someday_. Someday still feels impossibly far off, so right now, he’ll take what he can get. Before she has time to reconsider, Scott crushes his lips to hers. One hand cups her jaw and the other grabs at her ass, pressing her impossibly closer. He keeps kissing her because he’s twenty-one and she’s his best friend and he’s wanted to do this longer than the girlfriend’s been around. 

 

He’s a fucking idiot. 

 

His own stupidity isn’t enough to stop him from lifting Tessa, letting her long, hypnotic legs wrap round his waist, and walking them to his bed. Her ankles are crossed behind his back, hips moving slowly, almost cautiously while she kisses a hot trail from his mouth to his collar bone. She bites the hollow of his throat and all of his blood rushes downward, leaving him dizzy and needy. 

 

Laying her onto the bed, a terrifying thought races through Scott’s mind: what if this is Tessa’s first time? Not that he’s sure she’d even tell him, but still. If it is, it shouldn’t happen like this, with someone who’s…preoccupied. Tessa deserves better than that, deserves someone completely present. Someone completely in love with her. 

 

_Jesus, don’t go there,_ he thinks, watching situate herself atop the navy comforter. Dark hair fanning out around pale shoulders. Legs crossing and uncrossing in what could be anxiety or arousal—he can’t tell. Scott doesn’t know this side of Tessa well enough. 

 

God, he wants to rectify that. 

 

Careful not to crush her, Scott crawls on top of Tessa and loses his goddamn mind when she immediately shoves her hips up to meet his. She’s eager, almost overly, but he can’t bring himself to care when she’s reaching for the hem of his grey t-shirt and pulling it up. The neck gets caught around his head, tearing a chorus of giggles from Tessa’s gorgeous, well-kissed mouth. 

 

He sits back on his knees and finishes getting his shirt off while Tessa relaxes on her elbows, sitting up a little underneath him. She scoops her hair to one side, fanning at the exposed skin and looking anywhere other than at him. 

 

“Tessa?” Scott asks against his better judgement. “Is this—Are you—“ He clears his throat. “Have you…uh, done this. Before?”

 

She meets his eyes then, all wide pupils and rich green irises. Darker than he’s seen before. “Does it matter?” she asks, quiet. 

 

_A little. Yes._ “No, of course not, kiddo.”

 

A slow smile blooms across her face, something like relief coloring the edges. “Good,” Tessa says, curling a hand around his neck. Her nails are short, but blunt enough to sting a little when her fingers dig in. She pulls him down, and it’s terrifying how _right_ this feels.

 

The next time he gets up, there’s an apologetic voicemail on his cell. 

 

Shit. 

 

He untangles himself from Tessa, heart clenching when she sighs his name into her pillow and curls into the warmth left over on his side of the bed. Pressing his phone to his ear, Scott tiptoes into the bathroom. While he’s listening to Jessica stammer on about how _of course you and Tessa aren’t sleeping together I’m so sorry I’d say that can you forgive me?_ he notices the two hickeys decorating his neck. One above the other. 

 

That, coupled with the scratch marks down his back and way his hair’s sticking up in twelve different directions from her pulling it, makes Scott think Tessa must have a thing for marking him. God, just thinking about something Tessa’s into gets his dick rock fucking hard again. But it’s four in the morning, they have practice in three hours, and Scott has a girlfriend. _Still_ has a girlfriend, by some miracle. 

 

Rather than watch Tessa wake up in his bed, something Scott physically cannot do for fear of abandoning practice, abandoning the _Olympics,_ in favor of more sex with his best friend, he leaves. Just grabs his wallet and goes. 

 

Forty-five minutes later, head clearer and mind sounder, he comes back with two coffees. Tessa’s gone from his room, which shouldn’t be surprising but still sends a spike of fear through his spine. He knocks on her door, prays she’ll open it, and waits thirty agonizing seconds.

 

“Are we okay?” Scott asks when Tessa opens her door. He hands her the coffee, which she accepts without looking at him. “T, we have to be okay.”

 

She sighs. “I know.”

 

“Last night,” he starts, then swallows, because just thinking about it is too much. “Last night was probably a mistake, and probably my fault.”

 

The coffee cup falls from Tessa’s hands with an impressive _thud,_ spraying droplets of espresso flying. “Shit,” she starts, leaning down to pick it up without making a mess of the hotel carpet. Cursing’s a rarity from Tessa—except for last night, the disgusting and unproductive part of Scott’s brain reminds him—so it means something. “It wasn’t your fault, okay?”

 

“It wasn’t?”

 

She sets the cup on the TV stand and crosses her arms. “We’re adults. We both made a decision.”

 

But she’s nineteen. Barely an adult. Rationally, he knows she was just as much a part of this as he was, but there’s that irrational part of him that wants to protect her, keep her conscience free of this whole mess. He’ll deal with Jessica alone, not even bring up Tessa’s name. He’ll lie to keep her out of the narrative, because _he’s_ the one who broke first. 

 

“Okay. You’re right.” She nods, staring at the door behind him. “Are you gonna look at me anytime soon? ‘Cause we have practice in, like, thirty minutes.”

 

Tessa finally drags her eyes to his face, and he tries to look normal. Smiles, even. But then she sucks in a sharp breath, brows shooting up. 

 

“What?” he asks, panicking a little. Did she just realize they can’t do this—can’t come back from this?

 

“Your neck!” She looks mortified, eyes wide and teeth set in her bottom lip. For a split second, while her eyes trace his skin from collarbone to chin, something self-satisfied slips into her expression. Before he can linger on it, and, boy, does he want to linger on it, it’s gone, replaced by a blank slate.

 

“Oh, that.”

 

“I have some concealer in my bag,” Tessa says, grabbing for his hand. She leads him to the nightstand, hand curling around his just like it’s always done, and Scott thinks they’re going to be okay. They’ll get through this practice, then the next one, and then the next one, until this night is a nothing but a memory he’ll save for late, lonely nights. 

 

He won’t make this mistake again. 

 

(He does. 

 

Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir are Olympic champions by the next month and they celebrate like any nineteen and twenty-one year old would. Scott can’t decide if it’s narcissism or pride when he suggests they keep the medals on. Or if it’s a good or bad thing that Tessa agrees without a second thought. 

 

Jessica breaks up with him a month after Vancouver and he tells himself the reason it doesn’t sting like it should is the medal on his dresser.

 

It’s not.)


	2. 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are fudging the jessica to cassandra timeline just a tad here because this is clearly all fictional anyways, so why not? enjoy!

Somehow, Jessica remains in the picture. Tessa, obviously, is still around. Scott Moir has an Olympic gold medal, an ego the size of Nunavut, and a girl problem. Well, he has two girls and it’s becoming increasingly apparent that _something_ needs to change. Tessa can’t go, because they have Sochi and dreams of being two-time Olympic champions. Jessica can’t go because he’s invested so much damn time in their fucked up relationship. 

 

Tessa makes dating look so easy, just flitting around with Ryan whenever she wants, wherever they want to go. He brings her lunch during practices, even takes her out on occasion. Scott thinks he must not know that they’ve seen each other naked—recently. 

 

They need to stop, really and truly. It’s cruel to the other parties involved, Scott _knows_ that, knows his mother would be horrified, that Danny would punch his lights out if he knew. If he were a better man, he’d put a stop to the whole damn thing. But then he’s alone with her at the end of a day of training and the rink lights are dim and she’s glowing from the exertion and his mind goes….places. 

 

And it’s not that he doesn’t love Jessica. It’s just. _Tessa._  

 

It doesn’t help that he spends a good portion of the day with her legs wrapped around his head. _Carmen_ was Marina’s idea, but Tessa jumped at the idea of playing a femme fatale faster than all the blood in Scott’s body shot straight to his dick. It’s karma, and he deserves it. They’re on the ice for hours, touching and teasing and playing the part of sex-crazed monsters, and then Tessa goes home with someone else. 

 

He goes to dinner with his girlfriend, evades questions about the new free dance, and winds up home alone. That’s how it usually goes: Jessica has an early day or is getting sick or just plain doesn’t want to stay over. This particular night, it’s a 6 am flight the next morning. Scott’s on his couch, flipping through late night movie channels when Tessa texts him. 

 

_come over?_ is all she types, all she _needs_ to type. He shoots back a _yes_ and climbs into his truck without a second thought. 

 

On the drive over, Scott’s whole body thrums with want and need. It’s been a solid three weeks since he’s had Tessa in any capacity other than professional, because she keeps trying to break it off. “We need boundaries,” she’d said after the last time he laid her out on the sheets Jessica bought him and fucked her within an inch of her life. “And I really like Ryan.” 

 

Ryan is fine, Scott supposes. Tessa’s never been one for long relationships—that’s _him_ , no doubt—but she really does seem to like him. Not enough to stop fucking him on the side, he thinks smugly, getting to her place as fast as traffic laws permit. Even if this weren’t, if _they_ weren’t…doing this, he’d still come whenever she calls 

 

First and foremost, Tessa Virtue is his best friend. 

 

Scott might be a little in love with her, but he’ll push that thought to the back of his mind when she’s on top of him, moaning the filthiest things he’s ever heard out of such a pretty mouth. It would be _so_ easy to whisper in her ear, to let it slip, to do more than literally and metaphorically skate around their feelings and use each other for a good fuck. But that brings him back to the girl problem. 

 

Unless Tessa wants to get into it now, he doesn’t plan on bringing it up. 

 

Instead, he parks outside her building, shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets, and ducks his head down so the few passers-by don’t see him making a late night trip to Tessa’s. Not that he’s quite vain enough to assume people would know him from Adam, but he knows people are interested. Invested in their relationship, or lack thereof. God, if they only knew. 

 

He raps on her door twice in rapid succession and she pulls it open as he’s going for a third. In an oversized Leafs jersey and a messy bun, face scrubbed clean of any makeup from earlier, she’s still the sexiest thing Scott’s ever seen. 

 

“Hey,” she breathes, curling a hand around his bicep and dragging him inside. Scott barely has time to get a greeting out before Tessa shoves him onto her dumb white couch and settles into his lap, smiling against his mouth when she feels how hard he is already. 

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes a little. “It’s been a few weeks, okay?”

 

Tessa pulls back a centimeter, looks at him with genuine concern. “Are you and Jessica having problems?” 

 

He raises his eyebrows, considering where they are and what she just just asked. Chrissakes, she’s warm and wet against the front of his jeans and she hasn’t even gone completely still above him. “Really, T?”

 

She blinks twice, then moves like she’s going to get up. Scott stops her, pinning her wrists to her sides. “I didn’t mean _leave,_ I just meant this might not be the time to work on my relationship, yeah?”

 

“A fair point,” Tessa says, leaning in to rest her forehead against his. “But if you want to talk about it, I—”

 

He surges forward, pouring every ounce of not wanting to talk about his girlfriend into kissing her, and she immediately gives as good as she gets. Stupidly, Scott wonders if this is how she is with Ryan, all teeth pulling at his lower lip and tongue working something sinful against the hollow of his throat. _Don’t go there, Moir,_ he thinks, working her shirt up over her head. _Just don’t._

 

Tessa’s hands fumble with his zipper and his hips buck on instinct. She giggles and, God, he really is fucked. Instead of confessing every doubt he has about Jess, every fantasy he has about the two of them doing this for the rest of their lives and then some, Scott flips them so that she’s on her back and pulls her black boyshorts down. 

 

Later, panting and sweaty and completely relaxed for the first time in however long it’s been since they last did this, Tessa sends everything into a tailspin. “I think this is really going to help us sell _Carmen_ , don’t you?” She’s still curled against his chest when she says it, head tipped up just enough that he can see her eyes, bright and shining as ever. 

 

“I wasn’t aware that we needed help with that,” Scott says, sliding her off of him. He leans up on his elbows, watches Tessa reach for her discarded jersey and cover herself like she wasn’t just begging him to suck her tits. 

 

“You know what Marina says—everything helps,” Tessa replies, bending down to scoop her panties off the ground, and did she really just bring up fucking _Marina?_ It occurs to Scott then that _selling the program_ might be the only thing she’s wanting from this. From them.

 

Scott is so stupid and he brought this on himself and he _has a girlfriend._ That isn’t Tessa. “Are you alright?” she asks while he pulls his jeans back up and slips his hoodie back on. He should say no, make the conscious decision to put a stop to this all because it’s _wrong_ and they’re both better than this.

 

He’s about to do it, about to close off the hot and heavy side of their relationship forever, when Tessa leads him to the door and, just before she opens it, leans up to kiss him. It’s soft and sweet and nothing like before, but still makes him a little weak in the knees. 

 

“See you tomorrow?” she asks once he’s in the hallway. 

 

Scott nods, not trusting himself to speak. He musters the courage to say _something,_ but it’s not what is kind, mature, or decent of him. But then again nothing about tonight—or any of this—has been any of those things. “Tell Ryan I said hello,” Scott says, then ducks his head back down and turns away. He hopes it hurts, at least a little. 

 

The next morning he breaks up with Jessica and tells Tessa they need to stop fooling around, for the sake of the partnership. She nods, says she understands, and kisses him on the cheek. 

 

A month later he meets Cassandra, and a week after that, Tessa winds up in his bed again. 

 

So much for being a better man. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: moirthandating  
> twitter: moirorless
> 
> comments are love <3


	3. 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's chapter brought to you by "empty cups" by charlie puth :~) also just started working again (yay for summer jobs!) so i'm not entirely sure how long the last chapter will take, but i have most of it in my head already. as always, my timeline might be off, but hopefully that won't bug anyone _too _much. enjoy!__

After Sochi, things are different. 

 

Tessa sobs into her balled-up Team Canada parka on the plane ride from Russia all the way back home. She curls into herself so, to anyone not familiar with her mannerisms, it just looks like she’s sleeping at a backbreaking angle. Her whole frame shakes with the force of their loss and he wants more than anything to reach a hand across the armrest and fit a hand between her shoulder blades. He can’t make himself do it. 

 

Watching Tessa cry is up there next to dental appointments and watching Bambi’s mother get shot on Scott’s list of Least Favorite Things In The World. The shame weighing him down and keeping him from consoling his best friend hurts, keeps stabbing him in the heart like it did after Tessa’s first surgery, when he _knew_ he should be there but wasn’t. 

 

Scott orders her a chocolate milk from the flight attendant that goes untouched the whole flight. Twenty minutes before they begin their descent, she slides past him towards the bathroom and comes back with fresh makeup and a hardness behind her green eyes. 

 

“I don’t want to keep competing,” Tessa says, staring out the window. “I’m sorry, but that’s where I’m at.”

 

Scott wants to kick the entire ISU’s collective ass because their skates should have been enough. _They_ should have been enough. Meryl and Charlie are good, and call it vanity if you want, but they aren’t as good as he and Tessa are. If they just had another cycle, they’d prove that to the ISU, God, and everyone. 

 

But he doesn’t say that. “Whatever you want, kiddo **.”**

 

Maybe this is his fault. Maybe the silver medals in their suitcases are some kind of cosmic karma for fucking with people’s emotions. Maybe the second Scott kissed her all those years ago, their fates were sealed. _You can have Vancouver, but don’t think cheaters get to be defending Olympic champions._

 

They deplane and smile for the cameras and play the part of grateful Olympic medalists even though Tessa’s heartbroken and he’s _pissed_. Then, they take separate cars from the airport and he doesn’t hear from her for four days. Easily the longest he’s gone without talking to her since her first surgery. 

 

He pretends not to mind, throws all of his attention into Kaitlyn. She’s beautiful and funny and athletic and, for once, not a complete Tessa lookalike. He’s not going to screw this one up. He loves Kaitlyn, loves her more than any of the other girls. 

 

After the initial hurt from Sochi wears off, Tessa checks in every so often. A text here, a phone call here. They start planning for tour, preparing to drown themselves in Stars on Ice before the silvers get the chance to. 

 

Stars on Ice goes great, but there’s a chasm between them that grows wider as he and Kaitlyn get closer. Scott tells himself he’s _not_ replacing Tessa, but when his family starts asking where she is, why she’s not at all the Moir family gatherings she’s had an invitation to since they were kids, he gets it. But then his brothers start gushing about how great his girlfriend is and he thinks, _yeah. This is fine. Just life after the Olympics_ **.**

 

After most of the dust settles and Scott’s able to pull the silver medals out of his sock drawer where he’d shoved them like a petulant child, he decides to start going out a little more. He doesn’t have competitions to think about, so what’s a few nights of fun? Kaitlyn  tags along the first few times, but by the third bar crawl he goes on, it’s just him and his hockey buddies. 

 

Probably best Kaitlyn isn’t around them. 

 

They’re drunk and loud and crass and—worst of all—they keep bringing up Tessa. Their tour is over and they haven’t talked face to face since. It’s all been texts, short, reasonably sweet, and to the point. He shouldn’t be so irritated every time his phone dings and it isn’t Tessa, but that’s life. 

 

But now, perched on a barstool, pint in hand, he’s more than irritated. His goddamn friends won’t leave well enough alone, won’t drop the _one_ subject he one-hundred percent won’t talk about, on the way to drunk off his ass or not. 

 

“You mean you never, not once fucked her?”

 

“Yeah, not even after a good competition or something?”

 

Scott clenches his jaw, grinds his teeth like Tessa used to chide him about when they were teenagers. He takes a swig of beer, then exhales sharply. “Not gonna talk about Tessa that way. Ever.”

 

“I don’t hear a no, Scotty,” someone laughs. They don’t understand, haven’t _ever_ understood his relationship with Tessa. And sure, it’s fucked beyond belief, but she’s still probably still his best friend. And someone he respects too much for any of this. 

 

“Come on, man, we’ve all seen _Carmen._ God, what I wouldn’t do to get her legs wrapped around _my_ —“

 

He slams his beer down on the bar top, so hard he’s worried the glass might shatter. “That’s it, I’m out,” Scott says, voice clipped. He pulls a twenty out of his pocket and leaves it in one of the rings from his glass. “Let me know when you stop being misogynistic douchebags.”

 

 _Tessa would be proud of that one_ , he think _s,_ rummaging in his pocket for his keys. No. Wait. How many pints did he have? The fact that he can’t remember isn’t the best sign. Scott shoves his keys back were they were and clumsily dials the first number that comes to mind. 

 

She picks up on the first ring. 

 

“Are you okay?” Tessa asks. “It’s one in the morning, what’s up?” In the background, beneath some low Jazz he knows she doesn’t like, Scott hears a man groan something like _come back, who could possibly need you right now?_ and he feels like a fucking idiot. A drunk fucking idiot. It’s a Saturday night, of course he shouldn’t have expected her to be alone. 

 

“Scott, say something. You’re freaking me out.”

 

He shakes his head, wills himself to sober up at least a little. “It’s nothing, I’m just at a bar and—“

 

“You need a ride home?” she asks. Seventeen years together don’t amount to nothing, even with the months of only acquaintance-level communication. “Send me your location and I’ll be there in a minute.”

 

He texts her the bar’s address and then trudges inside feeling supremely, idiotically sorry for himself. Things with Kaitlyn are going great, better than any of his past relationships. The’ve casually discussed moving in together. That doesn’t stop him from ordering a shot of Fireball and downing in while flipping his friends at the other end of the bar off. 

 

Tessa enters the bar the same time the cinnamon whiskey hits his bloodstream. Her hair’s down, cascading down one shoulder, and when she nods at him to follow her, he sees a peek of what looks like a fresh hickey. 

 

“Who’s the guy?” Scott asks as he folds himself into Tessa’s sensible hatchback. 

 

She purses her lips. “Let’s not do this, Scotty. You’re drunk.” Her eyes focus on the road as she backs out of her parking spot and throws it into drive. 

 

“Do what?” He watches her hands grip the steering wheel, wonders what else she might have been gripping tonight. “I’m happy for you,” he lies. “Y’know, if you’re getting laid. Really, I am.”

 

“Is Kaitlyn at your place?” Tessa asks, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “Why didn’t you call her?”

 

Whiskey and missing her swim around his head, clouding his judgement. “She doesn’t like me going to bars.”

 

“And I do?”

 

“I knew you’d come if I called,” Scott says, patting her shoulder clumsily. He feels somewhere between a drunk uncle and an estranged husband. He’s never been this off-kilter around Tessa, not even when they were fucking on the regular. 

 

She nods, keeps her eyes on the road. Then, softly, “His name is Richard. I don’t think I’ll see him again.” 

 

“Was I interrupting something?”

 

“Scott,” she says gently. “It’s not your place to…not when there’s Kaitlyn in the picture.”

 

“You’re right.” But the whiskey comes back with a vengeance, burning a streak of stupidity through his common sense. “I called because you were on my mind. Have been for a while, Tess.”

 

That’s all it takes, apparently. Tessa pulls into the nearest parking lot—a closed Tim Horton’s, how Canadian—and turns the car off. In an instant, she’s in his lap and it’s everything he’s been missing since the podium in Sochi. 

 

He licks into her mouth, bites her bottom lip. She groans against him, hips shifting just so and _oh._ Scott thrusts up on instinct while her lips drift to that spot just under his jaw. Alcohol and the feeling of Tessa against him buzz through his whole body and he grips her hips a little tighter, pull her face back up to his and pours all the anger and sadness and resentment he’s felt into kissing her. He misses this, the feel of her in his arms. 

 

He misses skating together. Misses _competing._ There’s still no doubt in his mind that they’re incredible, maybe even the best in the world. If there were a way for them to compete without the motherfucking ISU breathing down their backs and trying to sell some bullshit _all artistry no technique_ narrative, he’d—

 

Tessa jerks away from him like she’s been burned. Her eyes are dark, cheeks a tempting shade of burgundy. “I’m just gonna get back in the driver’s seat and pretend we didn’t just do that,” she says, voice hoarse. 

 

Scott nods, though his dick doesn’t seem to get the memo. He’s so fucking hard it _hurts,_ but one no—not even a _no—_ from Tessa is all it’s ever taken to clear his head. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah, good plan.” 

 

She turns the car back on and gets them back on the road. Once they get to his place, he sees Kaitlyn’s car out front. Holy shit, when did he turn into such a monumental ass? 

 

He unbuckles his seatbelt while she puts the car in park. “Tess, I’m—“ he starts at the same time she whispers a, “Scott, I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

 

“What?” 

 

Tessa breathes out a shaky sigh. “I can’t keep walking this line with you. It was different when I was twenty and stupid and wanted to believe it wasn’t a mistake, but I’m different now. We’re different now.” 

 

“What do you mean? Are we not—We’re still friends, right?” Sure, their friendship has taken a turn for the causal, but the thought of not having Tessa in his life at all makes him want to vomit more than the all the drinking he’s done tonight does. “Tess, you know I love you, what do you mean?” His voice has a desperate edge to it, like if she kicks him out and drives away he might up and die. 

 

She reaches across the console and squeezes his hand. “What I mean is you should go inside. To your girlfriend.” Her eyes are glassy, like she’s giving something up. “We just can’t do _this_ anymore.” 

 

“Okay,” Scott says slowly. “Alright. Yeah. Got it.” Somehow, he doesn’t feel relieved. 

 

Just before he opens the door, Tessa drives a knife through his heart. “I love you, too, Scotty. Remember, you’re my best friend.” 

 

He slips into the cold night air with a mournful, “Thanks for the ride, kiddo,” and then she’s gone, tires screeching against the pavement. 

 

Inside, Kaitlyn’s waiting up for him. “How was the bar?” she asks, wrinkling her nose. He sits beside her on the dark blue couch and gives her a tired smile. 

 

“I think we should buy a house.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are love! find me on twitter (moirorless) or tumblr (moirthandating) and join me in my obsession <3


	4. 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and she's done! this chapter took me a little longer because i've been working a bunch since i got home from school, but i hope it was *wiggles eyebrows* well worth the wait ;))))
> 
> no smut this time, but hopefully the ending will suffice without it!

The return to competition involves entirely more therapy than Scott had necessarily expected. They’ve gone through counseling before, have had uncomfortable conversations with Marina, and now Marie-France and Patrice, but this is more intense. B2Ten is supplying an honest to god marriage counselor, and Scott would be mortified if Jackie hadn’t made it abundantly clear that she’s heard everything and anything in sessions before. 

 

So, between studio sessions with Sam and ice time with their coaches, Scott gets to sit across from a tiny Korean woman with kind eyes and an unrelenting clipboard. An hour every Tuesday and Thursday. He drives them from the rink to her office in downtown Montreal, then takes them back to their shared complex. It feels an awful lot like they’re back in Canton. 

 

One of the first conversations they have is about Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn, the girl Scott bought a house for and nearly moved in with. The girl who wasn’t jealous of his on-ice chemistry with Tessa, who understood what it takes to get to an Olympics. The girl who worried as much as Tessa did when things started getting bad. 

 

(Breaking up with Kaitlyn goes something like this: 

 

“Tessa wants to come back to competition,” Scott says the morning he gets back from China. They’re in her apartment, and she looks up from the bacon she’s frying with a slight frown. 

 

“And?”

 

It’s then he realizes maybe she’s thought about him and Tessa more than she ever let on. But he can’t let this go, not when it’s been festering in his mind since the medal ceremony in Sochi. “And I want to win in Korea.”

 

Kaitlyn sighs, rests her hands on her hips and asks, “It’s always going to be her, isn’t it? Whatever Tessa Virtue wants, Scott Moir gives her.” She’s never thrown their partnership in Scott’s face, but now, her mouth pressed together and eyes lacking the warmth he’s so used to, it feels like she’s had enough.

 

“Well?” she asks, head cocked to the side.

 

For the first time in seven years, Scott tells the truth. “Yes,” he says quietly. “She’s the most important person in my life and I want—no, I _have_ to do whatever it takes to make her happy. I’m sorry.” 

 

The kitchen goes silent, save the sound of grease popping in Kaitlyn’s cast-iron skillet. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” she says, voice pinched. After a beat, she softens. “You love her.”

 

“Of course I—“ 

 

Kaitlyn cuts him off with a terse, “Don’t fuck with me, Moir. You’re _in_ love with her.”

 

It figures his girlfriend would be the first to figure it out, though Scott’s had some idea since he was nine, then again sixteen, at twenty-one, and then again when he thought he was losing her forever. Reluctantly, he nods. 

 

“Well then,” Kaitlin starts, “get out of here and go win gold in PyeongChang. I’m sure the entire country will be thrilled beyond belief.”)

 

He doesn’t tell Jacki and Tessa all of that. 

 

“We broke up when T and I decided to make a comeback to competition,” Scott says. “We both thought it would be best if we weren’t distracted leading up to Korea.”

 

Beside him, Tessa nods. 

 

“But you’ve both dated while competing before, right?” Jackie asks. “What’s different about this time?”

 

“We want to be at the top of our game. To win in 2018, we need to be the absolute best, and outside relationships could complicate that.” Tessa clasps her hands in her lap. They made the decision together and Scott’s been trying not to read into it. It’s easy not to when Tessa explains it like that. They don’t need distraction, plain and simple. 

 

“When you won gold in Vancouver, Scott had a steady girlfriend. What makes you think you wouldn’t be able to juggle both again?”

 

Tessa goes rigid. They haven’t told anyone about…the full extent of their relationship. Nobody knows about Vancouver, not even Danny or Jordan. People have speculated, but it’s solidly between them. Scott won’t put it out in the open unless she makes the first move, because to him, it’s still his twenty-one year old self’s mistake. Not Tessa’s. 

 

“We just,” Tessa starts, then stops, worrying at her bottom lip. “This is different.”

 

Jackie looks at him and he promptly looks at the floor. _Smooth, Moir._ For at least a minute and a half, nobody speaks. Finally, Jackie glances at her watch, tells them the hour is almost up, and that she thinks they’ve run up against a wall. 

 

“I’ll see you again on Tuesday, but you should take the weekend to figure out why it’s so important you both go into this comeback romantically unattached.” Jackie waves them out of the office and they walk to Scott’s car listening to street noise and nothing else. 

 

The drive back to their complex is silent and drags on forever in downtown Montreal’s stop-and-go traffic. In an effort to not road rage all over the place because there’s some kind of accident ahead of them, Scott passes his aux cord to Tessa. It’s a practiced move, ingrained in him like their dance handholds or the first lifts they ever learned. She takes it without a word and queues up a playlist, sending Sam Smith’s “Latch” spilling through his truck’s speakers.

 

“Sorry,” Tessa says automatically. “We don’t have to bring work home with us like this.” They just picked their free dance music last weekend, this acoustic ballad about love and loss and ultimately some more love, coupled with a piano piece by a Canadian singer-songwriter. 

 

“It’s okay. We both liked this song, remember?” Marie-France had brought it to them after they decided on Prince for the short dance, saying something about them wanting contrast and something a little softer. As soon as he heard the lyrics, waxing poetic about finally being with someone and not letting them go, Scott was hooked. Tessa looked up at him from the other side of the boards with something unreadable in her green eyes and nodded. 

 

Her fingers hover above the skip button but she doesn’t do anything. The air in the cab of Scott’s truck feels thicker than it did before, not just due to the oppressive heat outside. Time slows while Sam Smith sings, “I think we’re close enough, Could I lock in your love, baby?” and for the first time since he was twenty-one, Scott feels brave. 

 

“Tessa,” he starts, thankful that traffic has lightened enough that he has to look at the road and not her, “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too,” she answers automatically, and, dammit, _why_ are they like this?

 

“No, Tess, I mean I’m _in_ love with you.” 

 

She doesn’t react the way women do in the movies, with gasps or tears or beaming smiles. Instead, Tessa stiffens like she did in Jackie’s office and breathes a few times, deep and even. He recognizes it as one of the techniques for keeping herself calm and feels like the biggest ass on the whole planet. “Shit, I didn’t mean to…god, just forget I said—”

 

“I’m in love with you, too, Scotty.” He almost slams on the breaks in the middle of the damn road. “But I don’t know if we deserve each other anymore.” 

 

Scott cuts the wheel in the intersection before their building and nearly takes the turn on two wheels. After the tires finish screeching and the dust settles, Scott speaks: “Holy shit, Tessa, how could we _not deserve each other_?” He pulls into their parking garage, throws the car in park, and finally looks Tessa in the eyes. She looks fucking _terrified._

 

“T, you’re the best person I know,” he says, reaching for her hand across the console. “You’re…incredible.”

 

Green eyes wide and glassy, she answers with a short, “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, and I’m sure you have, too.”

 

The subject they wouldn’t broach in session today; it had to come up sooner or later. “Hey, we’re different people now.”

 

“I’ve cheated on almost every man I’ve ever been with. And you’ve done the same to all of your girlfriends—I know that, Scott.” Tessa pulls her hand from his and slips out of the car. 

 

_Not Kaitlyn,_ Scott wants to counter. _Not technically, anyways._ He doesn’t, opting to follow her to the elevator. 

 

“Do you know what it would do to me if we did to each other what we’ve been doing to other people?” Tessa asks, arms wrapped around herself. She looks up at him through her lashes, halfway between angry and terrified. 

 

Scott takes a step back, cocks his head. “You think we have a _cheating_ problem?”

 

“Of course I do!”

 

He laughs, which is a mistake because Tessa swats him in the arm and glares. “I don’t know what you find funny about this situation,” she says, decidedly leaning towards anger. 

 

“Tess,” Scott starts, “I know that this is serious stuff and not something we can just brush under the rug, but I don’t think we have a cheating problem.” She wrinkles her nose and tilts her chin up, and he’s so goddamn _fond_ of every part of her he almost forgets the point he was trying to make. “I think we have an _us_ problem.”

 

The doors on the slowest elevator known to man finally slide open and Tessa’s so stunned he has to pull her gently by the elbow to get her inside. The slant of her brows ask the question as well as her voice could, so Scott elaborates. 

 

“I’ll just speak for myself here, but, Tessa, you’re it for me. I think I’ve known that since I was about eighteen or so, but I was too scared of what that meant, and I wanted to be a guy who dated around, so I did.” She frowns, and, yeah, that didn’t sound great. “I mean, I really _did_ love Jess and Cassandra and Kaitlyn, I _did,_ but I think I always knew I was waiting for you.”

 

Once again, she doesn’t react like in a movie. “You’re mentioning your exes an awful lot,” Tessa says, and for a split second, Scott thinks he’s _actually_ fucked this up and ruined everything between them and how he’s going to have to tell Marie-France and Patch and they’re never gonna skate another Olympics and he’s doomed to a life of chasing Tessa-lookalikes, but then she giggles. Softly, sweetly, and completely at his expense. 

 

“Wait,” Scott sputters, “so you’re not mad?” 

 

The elevator dings again and this time Tessa leads him to the hallway between their two apartments. “I think you might actually be right about the root of our problem,” she says, pulling her keys out of her purse. “I think we should talk to Jackie about this, and probably Marie and Patch, as well.”

 

“Marie and Patch? Does this mean—?”

 

“That you’re it for me, too, and I’ve probably known that deep down since I was fifteen?” 

 

This feels something like what Scott imagines winning gold in Korea will feel like—ninety-nine percent joy and one percent fear of the future. They have so much to talk about and work through, but he can’t make himself care too much while Tessa’s smiling this glittering cautious smile and fitting her hand in his. 

 

Later, when he presses her into the wall just on the other side of her door and lifts her so her legs go around his waist, it isn’t a mistake. It’s coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on tumblr (moirthandating) or twitter (moirorless)! comments are love and will definitely encourage me to write my next fic (a fluffy, lovey mess) faster <3

**Author's Note:**

> in a perfect world, i would love to update again before the end of the week, but we'll see. send me some encouragement at any of the following locations: tumblr (baenakinskywalker OR my fancy new shipping sideblog moirthandating), twitter (moirorless), or the comments below!
> 
> thanks for reading :~)


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